The Tangled Web
by Austra
Summary: For Panther, it's about revenge. For Spot, it's about uncovering his past. For "Miss Eleanor", it's about acting a part. Never will you meet characters as deceiving as Panther, Spot, and "Miss Eleanor". Won 1st for mystery!
1. Miss Eleanor

**It is a rather confusing and abrupt beginning, but if you continue reading, I do believe you will enjoy. This is my very first fic with Spot, so please be kind in your reviews! Constructive criticism is more than welcome!**

"It ain't wrong unless ya get caught," I told my Brooklyn boys frequently.

"You don't believe that," a traitorous voice in the back of my head whispered every time I said it. This time I cringed. "Go away."

It chuckled. "You really don't. You have morals. You're soft."

"Shut up!"

"You're weak. You shouldn't be the leader."

"I said SHUT UP!" I cried, enraged at this strange voice I could not get rid of.

"Umm... Spot?" I heard a timid voice ask.

I whirled, then saw Marbles and ran a hand through my head in frustration. _Now he thinks I'm crazy. Talking to myself! What a stupid thing to do!_

"Who were you talking to Spot?" he queried nervously.

"Not you, kid," I said gruffly, and ruffled his hair.

"Oh." He still looked confused.

I sighed. How do you explain something like this? "It's just- well- kid, do you ever hear that voice whispering to you in the back of your head and it makes you feel- just- so- i dunno- angry- that you yell at it?" It sounded stupid, and I wished I hadn't said anything, but once I had started, I had had to go on.

"Yes!" Marbles said confidently. "It's your consense!"

"Your _what_?"

"Your consense- no that's not right..." he thought, frowning and biting his lip. "I's gots it!" he grinned. "_Conscience!" _he uttered triumphantly.

I was impressed despite myself. "Who told you that?"

"Miss Eleanor. She said-"

I was angry again. Miss Eleanor- once more! She was getting on my nerves. Practically every day I was getting reports about "Miss Eleanor" instead of the other boroughs from my boys (particularly the younger ones). She was apparently some kind of superhero. "Miss Eleanor" indeed! "Miss Perfect", more likely! I was getting sick of it all. "Miss Eleanor this, Miss Eleanor that!" I said, making no attempt to hide my irritation. "Get goin', kid."

His face fell and I softened a little despite myself. "It's just I'm sick of hearin' about her. What're you doing anyway, talking to some hoity-toity lady?"

"She ain't!" Marbles cried eagerly, "she's real nice. She don't like me to call her Miss Eleanor- I just do. She's real funny, and she gives me money, even though she don't have much."

"I got a lot to do, kid," I said, dismissing him.

But I didn't do anything for a half an hour but sit and think about this Miss Eleanor who had so completely captured my boys' hearts.

Tomorrow, I decided, I would meet her.

**0O0O0O0O0O0**

"Hello, Mr. Conlon!" The girl smiled brilliantly, disarmingly, and held out her hand. "I, of course, have heard of the famous Spot Conlon," she continued. "Please, call me Ella."

I stared at her, trying to puzzle out what was striking me about her as different. Then it struck me. She had a British accent! My boys had never told me this. _They probably don't even know what one is like, _I thought drily. _At least Marbles was right about one thing- she really isn't hoity-toity, somehow. On anyone else it would be, but she isn't proud, like. _I kept trying to analyze what made her _not_ seem hoity-toity.

She quickly took her hand back and spat on it delicately (if such a thing were possible). "I'm sorry," she apologized, "I forgot my manners!"

_Irony of ironies, _I thought wryly as I took it. _That's how she's not hoity-toity!_ But instead of shaking it, I turned it and kissed it. It seemed wrong somehow to shake this lady's hand as if it were a pump and I were trying to get something out of it.

She blushed; and very prettily indeed. "Why," she said, "I've never had anyone do that to me before!" she exclaimed.

"I wonder why not," I said, very smoothly.

She blushed even harder. "So what brings the great leader of Brooklyn to my humble abode?"

_"Humble abode". Gotta remember that one. _"Well, me boys been talkin' 'bout you a lot. It was startin' ta get irritating. I decided to come see the amazin' Miss Eleanor meself." I should have left off the "irritating" bit. I realized this after I said it; she looked rather ashamed.

"I _am_ sorry to be such an inconvenience!" she exclaimed. "Of course, I should have left your boys alone. It just gets rather lonely when you live by yourself."

I raised an eyebrow. Either she was very brave or very stupid to admit that she lived alone, a very dangerous thing for a girl in Brooklyn. Of course, bravery and stupidity are all the same thing, when you get down to it. _Or perhaps she is being very, very clever,_ I thought, scrutinizing her. With her impeccable manners and refined accent, she seemed like a very innocent, upper-class sort of person, but I had noticed that her house was _extremely _shabby, on the point of being associated with the word _poverty,_ and her clothes had been turned*1 at least twice. It was impossible to be poor and retain your ignorance of good and evil.

I took a casual, smooth step closer in order to examine her eyes. To me, eyes were the most important thing to look at when you want to know about a person. That and their hands. I scrutinized her eyes first. They were a magnificent shade of amber, and were rimmed with the longest, blackest lashes I had ever seen. At a glance, they seemed very innocent, but upon close examination, I could see a guarded, cold, careful look in them, like she knew something that she wouldn't tell, or like she'd done something she couldn't say.

My gaze travelled down to her hands. I had gotten very good at telling a person's character solely from their hands. In fact, I had gotten so good I could do it without touching them (although this would have made it a great deal clearer and easier). She was a very hard worker, I gathered, and did hard, menial labor. She had known a great deal of poverty and suffering.*2

Her dark red hair (so dark I thought it was black till the dim light hit and made it shine) fell in her eyes and she brushed it away in an impatient gesture. I noticed then that she was working hard to keep her hands from trembling.

_Why? _I wondered. _Is it just because a strange man is in her house? _Then a thought struck me. _Maybe she's heard stories._

"Er, Mr. Conlon," she said, in an attempt at conversation, "would you- is the- how has the selling been lately?"

"Very good, Miss Eleanor."

"Ella, please," she said, with another smile.

_She's a good actress._ "Where do you work?"

The question seemed to make her scared. "Um... er, sewing. I sew."

An awkward pause.

"Well, Miss- er, Ella...-nor," I said finally, attempting to leave off the "-nor" and not succeeding, "it was nice meeting you. Unfortunately," I continued, "I have to get back to me boys." I watched her closely.

She put on a show of being deeply disappointed, but I could see in her eyes that she was greatly relieved. "Well, goodbye, then, Mr. Conlon," she said finally, after voicing the usual regrets that I could not stay longer.

"Please," I said, catching the door just before it shut, "call me Spot." I didn't watch her eyes very closely then, but I didn't have to in order to see the look of- could it be?- terror in those lovely eyes.

Then I turned and walked down the street.

And felt her eyes on me the whole way back to the lodging house.

***1 A method used in the old days wherein clothes were turned inside out so as to be worn several times; usually used only by the poorest or the miserliest of people.**

***2 Yes, it is possible to tell a great deal about someone from their hands. I myself am an expert. I could meet you for the very first time, feel your hands (unfortunately, I, unlike Spot, like to feel their hands as well as look) and know at least ten things about your character, your lifestyle, and your background.**

**Please review!**

**-Austra**

**PS If you guys are looking for some really really good Spot romances, read:**

**[In no particular order]**

**"No More Random Goils!" by Eavis [has sequel: "Of Life"]**

**"Spot of Luck" by SayaXIII**

**"The Prize" by thrufirewithoutaburn [has sequel: "The Life"]**

**"Carpe Diem" by Ryan Brooklyn [has sequel: "Altus Vicis, Ferreus Vicis"]**

**"Ace of Hearts" by Racetrack's Goil [has sequel: "The Royal Flush"]**

**"Irish" by theIrishkid**

**"Murmur" by DisneyLady824 [has sequel: "Mumble"]**

**"The Future is Calling" by Christina Conlon [has sequel: "What Time Cannot Erase"]**


	2. Panther

**Mystery Eyes Chapter 2:**

* * *

><p>Eleanor rushed to the back of her house after Spot had gone into the Lodging House. "Cor!" She muttered, very naughtily, before yelling, "Cream!"<p>

A loud noise that sounded suspiciously like a banging door was heard, and an extremely handsome young man emerged from the back of the house. "I say-" the boy (for now that he spoke, that is what he seemed) began in a querulous voice, but Ella cut him off curtly, "Where's Cream?"

"I say!" The boy said again, still more plaintively, "I come here, being promised _food_, and when I get here-"

"Oh shut your mouth!" Ella said hastily, before Piccolo* could go off on a tirade of his misfortunes, "Where, for the last time, is Cream?"

"Off spying on that cur Conlon," Piccolo said carelessly. Then his brows lowered suspiciously. "Why was he here?"

"None of your business," Ella said sharply; then, as she saw the instantly distrustful look in his eyes, she amended, with a sigh, "I don't think he's on to me. Apparently, he came just because his newsies had been talking about me too much lately and it was annoying him." She smiled reminiscently.

Piccolo shook his head. "Why did you befriend _his_ newsies anyway?"

Ella glared at him. "Who are _you_ to question my motives?" She said coldly. "When one is playing a double person, they must be very clever. And so I was. I befriended them because getting on Conlon's good side is a good idea. Especially," she added with a smirk, "if he's ever going to find out who I am."

* * *

><p>"Where have you been, Spot?" Marbles asked me curiously.<p>

"None of your business, kid," I said curtly; it was rather embarrassing to have to admit that I had actually been visiting the very person I had professed to be annoyed with.

Marbles ducked his head in alarm and began to scurry away. I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. "I was-" I choked on my words. I just couldn't say it. It was strange- me, the strong leader, and I couldn't own up to visiting this young lady.

"I was doing a job," I muttered and walked up to my room.

* * *

><p>I was the only newsie I knew of that had his own room. It was nice to be able to have a place of peace and quiet where I wouldn't be interrupted by poker players or other such things, and I could actually hear myself think.<p>

And I certainly had a lot of think about.

Who was Miss Eleanor? Why was she so afraid of me? Why was she so eager to get rid of me? Why had the question of where she worked made her so agitated? How did she get to be such a good actress?

And where on earth had she gotten eyes like that?

I tried to shake Miss Eleanor off my mind and think about a much more pressing matter: Panther's gang. They had been making a great deal of trouble for my newsies; they rampaged and stole and had actually tried to set fire to the Lodging House once.

I shook my head. _What on earth do they have to gain by it?_ I wondered.

* * *

><p>His questions would have been answered had he chosen that moment to go visit Miss Eleanor. However, he did not, and so he did not see the meeting which transpired...<p>

"All right." Panther leaned back in his chair and smirked at his small band. "What's the report on Conlon?"

Cream, Panther's second-in-command, shrugged. "Not much," he said lazily. "He's still trying to find our hideout."

Panther smirked. "Not likely he'll do that anytime soon."

Cream barked a short laugh. "Yeh. Well. Conlon-"

"-Is a contemptible, mangy cur." Piccolo interrupted.

Cream shot him a glare. "No. Conlon is _smart._ He is, without exception, the smartest we've ever dealt with."

Panther raised an eyebrow. "_The_ smartest?"

Cream nodded. "Wily, powerful, and charming as a fox."

Panther smirked again. "No problem."

Piccolo leaned forward and was instantly jerked back by Bear, the undisputed "Hercules" of the group of five. Piccolo, decidedly the smallest of the group (with the exception of Panther) gave Bear a hurt look. "I was-"

"You was goin' to say somethin' 'bout food," Bear rumbled. "I could see it."

"No I wasn't!" Piccolo said indignantly. "I was just going to ask what our next move was."

"I been thinking," Panther began, a sudden fire springing to his eyes, "and-"

But he never completed his thought. Just then, a resounding bang was heard at the front door.

* * *

><p>"Hello, Miss Eleanor," Spot said, taking off his hat and bowing. "I'm sorry; I thought maybe Marbles was here; I needed him for something."<p>

Miss Eleanor looked greatly agitated about something. "No, he's not here-"

"May I come in?" Spot asked, but firmly, so it was more like a command than a question.

"Um- ahhh- yes... wait just a second..."

Miss Eleanor ran back to the back of her house, leaving a very bewildered Spot Conlon standing on her doorstep.

She stood, panting in the doorway of the kitchen where the gang's meeting was being held. "All of you, get out!" She cried frantically. "Spot is _here_!"

"DISPERSE!" Panther told everyone.

Miss Eleanor rushed back to the front of the house. Just before re-confronting Spot, she smoothed down her hair and put on her best "could-charm-a-bird-out-of-its-nest" smile. "Come in, come in!" she cried.

"I am _so_ sorry for my horrible inhospitality!" she continued, ushering him into the sitting room. Strangely enough, she seemed much more calm than last time.

Meanwhile, all of panther's gang slipped silently into the streets and melted into the crowds.

Miss Eleanor glanced out the window and smiled when she saw a hand out in the crowd tracing a pattern in the air. "May I offer you something to drink, Mr. Conlon?" she inquired smoothly.

***"Piccolo" is Italian for "small" or "small one".**

**Hope you enjoyed! Tell me what you think!**


	3. Spot

**Serious shout-outs to my dear reviewers:**

**Mayarin**

**MaxAnyaElphie**

**Eavis**

**LucyOfNarnia**

**Ealasaid Una**

**DiAmOnDsrBlUe**

**Your reviews are what's keeping this story alive! Thank you!**

**Mystery Eyes Chapter 3:**

* * *

><p><strong>Spot's POV:<strong>

Back at the Lodging House, I paced the floor of my bedroom in confusion and consternation. _What the heck was that all about? _I ran a frustrated hand over my hair for the seventh time; I had flung my hat across the room long ago and it was wildly disheveled from having suffered many blows.

_What on earth can someone like **her**__ have to hide from **me**? There is absolutely no sense to the whole thing! Miss Eleanor! I'm just gonna start calling her "Miss-Terry". _I smiled slightly at my pun, bad as it was, then sighed. Much as Miss Mystery was... interesting, I had more pressing problems.

Absently, as I turned my mind to concentrate on Panther, I wondered why it was that every time I tried to think about Panther, I ended up thinking about Miss Eleanor.

* * *

><p><strong>Panther's POV:<strong>

_Anger management,_ I thought, shaking my head. _It's **not** "Miss Eleanor"'s fault. It's mine. All mine. _I was trying not to be angry at that girl. Supposing... supposing... I shuddered to think of it, but supposing "Miss Eleanor" let the secret slip? Or, worse yet, supposing she out-and-out betrayed us?

I shook my head. A gang just _had_ to trust. In a gang... the members depended on one another.

I turned my mind to who Piccolo called "that cur, Conlon".

When would he be on to us? How long before he discovered the truth? He may be a cur, a lout, and a brute, but he was _smart._ I didn't know how long I could hold out against him.

No matter; I had the trust of my gang (fools that they were) and they, at least would never find out the truth until after I was in a different state. Conlon had been unconsciously contributing to that.

I ran my hands down my face. I knew that I could move to another state if I was found out; but I knew I would not truly be satisfied with that.

No, I had to stay. To finish.

To finish with Conlon.

To finish Conlon.

I would.

* * *

><p><strong>Miss Eleanor's POV:<strong>

I knew I was crying, but I wouldn't admit it.

What if I would be forced to leave the gang? It was all I had.

I would make amends, I decided. I would work twice as hard for the gang. Then maybe I would be allowed to stay.

Then there was Spot... of all the people in the entire universe, he was hardest to fool.

I could barely act around him, and that's saying a lot. For "Miss Eleanor" is the best actress that ever was. Not famous. But better than anybody else. Her whole life was acting.

Spot. How I hated him. How he made my teeth sit on edge. How he made my hair stand on end. Ugh. Spot.

He would be my test. My test to see whether I could stay in the gang or not.

I was the gang's only connection with the Middle-Class or Upper-Class world. They were all street-rats. They were all beneath peoples' notice.

But not I. I had a house. I even made something of a living other than stealing, unlike the rest of the gang, who had stolen anything and everything they owned.

I would prove myself. I could (and would) do an act that would send the gang (and Spot's) heads spinning.

I would.

* * *

><p><strong>Spot's POV:<strong>

I had to protect my newsies. From Panther. From his mysterious and awe-inspiring gang.

I had to admit it. Panther was no ordinary criminal; no ordinary street-rat. He was a mastermind.

And I could match him.

I would match him.

I would.

**Okay, okay. So that was a short chapter. I'm sorry. But a long one will be forthcoming. Please be kind and patient- and review!  
><strong>


	4. Mr Conlon

I knew what this was going to call for. I had to pay Spot Conlon a visit, to regain my standing with the gang.

As I walked to the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House, my hands trembled, my legs shook, and all I wanted was to turn and run in the opposite direction, far, far away.

Eventually, I had _finally_ reached the door. Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes for a second, I raised my hand and knocked, murmuring, "Actress. You're an actress. Nothing and nobody can see through your act. Actress. Actress."

I heard a hand on the door handle and gripped my basket even more tightly, still whispering, subconsciously, "Actress, actress…" until I finally realized that I was saying it and stopped myself.

Just in time, too; for a boy opened the door, and who knows what he might have thought had he heard me mumbling and muttering, "actress, actress". Probably would've thought I was stark raving mad.

Clearing my throat, I placed my smile on my face (when was the last time I'd given a real, joyous one? Three, four years ago?) and said, "May I please speak to your leader, Mr. Conlon?"

"Spot! 'Nother doll wantin' you!"

I almost gagged at the thought of girls "wanting him". As he came into view, I made my smile grow larger, more… shiny. "Mr. Conlon!" I cried, trying to act as though I really were quite thrilled to see him. "I know how-"

"Duke, whattya thinkin'?" Spot barked at the boy who had opened the door. My heart was in my mouth. He'd found me out. He was going to kick me out!

My eyes, I'm sure, were twice their normal size; but somehow, the smile continued to be plastered on my face. I'd forgotten to take it off.

"Miss Eleanor," he said, turning to me with those blue-grey, stormy eyes that saw _everything,_"I apologize."

I blinked. "What?"

"I apologize for the rudeness of me boys. Come in, please."

I blinked. "What?"

"Walk in the door?" Spot suggested, growing a little impatient. He held out his hand.

I blinked. "Oh." I took it and began to step over the threshold. However, I hadn't thought about how uneven it might be; I tripped and almost fell, but Spot caught me just before I hit the ground.

"Oh!" I said again. He must think those are the only two words I know: "what" and "oh". "Oh! Spot!"

"Sorry about that," he said softly.

My stomach fluttered, and my mind started to scream, "No! No! No! You bloody _cannot_ fall in love with him! Ella, he's _Spot__Conlon_! No! This isn't happening!"…

…But I was ignoring the voice in my head. "Thank you. I mean, it's all right."

I realized I was still in his arms and I tore myself away quickly, and looked anywhere but at his face. "I- er- nice… place you have here," I rambled wildly. "It's- I- uh-"

"What's that?"

"What? Oh!" There I go again! _Is__that__really__the__limit__of__her__vocabulary_, he must be thinking right now. "Uh, yes. This is-" I took the cover off the basket.

"Golly!" said Marbles, who, without me even noticing, had come over and was now peering with vivid interest into the basket. He whistled. "Gee and golly day!"

It was nothing but food; but I was positive that they would appreciate it greatly. "I… just threw some stuff together, and…" I gestured with my hands a little, and saw that they were shaking. "Actress, actress!" I thought to myself urgently.

"So. Um. I… guess I'll… be going." I couldn't even remember why I had come here, really, in the first place. "Oh!" Then I remembered.

I put on my warmest, biggest smile; like I was bundling up for winter. "Mr. Conlon, would you like me to fix your boys dinner?"

"You called me Spot a minute ago," he said softly.

"Did I?" I breathed. "Sorry!"

I grabbed the basket and headed for the kitchen.


	5. Marbles

**Ella's POV:**

I blinked and stood stock-still, holding the potatoes in forgetful hands. "I'm humming." I stated in a whispery breath. "I'm _humming._" I shook my head. "I'm _humming_!"

Shock encompassed me. "I'm… humming. Humming. As in, musically humming!" I took a step forward, then two steps back.

Marbles, without my knowledge, had been watching this performance for some time. "Yeah, and it's good humming. I bet you sing good, too."

I whirled, instantly going into a sort of a catlike crouch on instinct. Then, upon seeing it was only Marbles, sighed a sigh of relief. "Oh! It's only you." Then I smiled. It was almost genuine. Almost, but not quite. "I haven't sung in about three years," I told him.

His eyes widened. "I been singing for- for _forever_!" he exclaimed with emphasis. "Listen!"

He threw back his head and sang earnestly, "Come back, my lovey-dovey baby, and coochie-coo with-"

"That's _quite_enough of that," I said firmly, and, setting down the potatoes in the sink, went over and closed his mouth decisively.

He gave me a hurt look. "I was-"

"Dear, you have a lovely voice, but that song…" I shook my head in disgust. "I'll show a you _real_ song," I told him.

Seating myself on the stool by the sink, I reached in for a potato and began to peel it while I desperately searched my memory in hopes of finding a song to sing.

I was unsuccessful until I somehow discovered, in the deep, dark recesses of my mind, a half-remembered tune that I had heard as a child.

Taking a deep breath, and hoping I could remember at least one of the verses, I began to sing.

"A tree of life my soul hath seen

Laden with fruit and always green

A tree of life my soul hath seen

Laden with fruit and always green

The trees of nature fruitless be

Compared with Christ the apple tree."

I was in deep shock to find tears in my eyes. Trying to blame it on the potatoes, I began to second verse in a quavering voice.

"His beauty doth all things excel  
>By faith I know but ne'er can tell…"<p>

I was shocked to hear a voice join me, and looked up to see Marbles leaning against the doorway, his beautiful, pure little voice raised in harmony.

"…His beauty doth all things excel  
>By faith I know but ne'er can tell<br>The glory which I now can see  
>In Jesus Christ the apple tree."<p>

I didn't know if I could make it any further, and was about to skip to the last verse, when Marbles unexpectedly started the next verse on his own.

"I'm weary with my former toil  
>Here I will sit and rest a while<br>I'm weary with my former toil  
>Here I will sit and rest a while<br>Under the shadow I will be  
>Of Jesus Christ the apple tree."<p>

I could no longer blame the tears on the potatoes. Even if I had been cutting onions, I couldn't have blamed it on them.

Unashamedly, I held out my arms to Marbles, and he crossed the room and gave me a sweet, boyish hug.

He sang the closing lines of the song, very softly:

"This fruit does make my soul to thrive  
>It keeps my dying faith alive<br>Which makes my soul in haste to be  
>With Jesus Christ the apple tree."<p>

There was silence for some time, except for my occasional sobs, and Marbles said, in that sweet, pure way he has, "You have a very nice voice. You should sing more often."

I think I just about lost it at that point. "Thanks, Marbles," I whispered, dashing away my tears with the back of my hand.

I began peeling the potatoes again, with his help now. "Marbles," I hesitated. "Marbles, do you think-?"

"Yes?"

"Do you... think I'm crazy?"

"No!" He gave me a hug, and very narrowly missed poking my eye out with his knife.

"Well, I am," I muttered. "Crazy, I mean."

"What?" He stared at me.

I looked back at him, then spoke, clearly enunciating every syllable. "I. Am. Crazy."

"Not with us, you ain't." Another reckless hug. I refused to cry. "Spot likes you, you know," he continued, and although I seriously doubted that, it was wonderful all the same, "and you can come over every day. Stay with us, even!"

I had never felt loved in my whole life before. It felt wonderful. "Maybe I will," I said softly, looking down at my potatoes, "Maybe I will."

* * *

><p><strong>Third POV:<strong>

Panther came to visit after a while. Ella though he would get caught, but he didn't think so. He never did.

Panther knew something was up. He was furious. "Ella, we've always _dreamed_ of… of getting this mission done and getting outta here! Why did you have to go and ruin it?"

"I didn't ruin it!" Ella ran a hand through her dark hair. "Look, Panther, tonight, for the first time, I felt… human."

"You're not supposed to! You're not human! We're both _insane,_ Ella. Do you hear me? _Insane!_"

"Maybe you've _chosen_ to be insane, but I haven't!" Ella struggled not to yell. "I can still live, Panther! I can still learn-"

"The fact you're even _talking_ to me is proof that you're insane," Panther said coldly.

"It is not!" Ella hurled back. "And besides, I'm not talking to you! You're talking to me!"

"Ella." He took her face in his hands. She shuddered and pulled away.

"Panther, I'm sick of it! I'm sick of being crazy, I'm sick of being _treated_ like I'm crazy, I'm sick of trying to kill Conlon, I'm sick of making him die a slow, painful death!"

"Ella, just finish this." His voice was desperate, pleading. "Look, once Conlon's dead, we won't be crazy anymore. Promise."

"You promised that we wouldn't be crazy after we killed Jack Kelley. You promised we'd never be in pain again. Look where that got us!"

"Ella." His voice had changed. It was now cold, distant, authoritative. "I still have complete control over you. If you don't cooperate…"

"You can't kill me, or you'll never get this mission accomplished!" Ella shot back.

"Yes, but I have… unpleasant things I could do to you."

Ella shuddered again in spite of herself. She struggled for a minute; then gave up and muttered, "What do you want me to do?"


	6. Ella

**Panther's POV:**

I knew she didn't like being crazy. A part of me pitied her. But... but I _needed_ her to finish this mission. And I was _positive_ that killing Conlon would bring it all back.

I actually don't remember the time when I _was_ sane. It's like a foggy, distant memory. Sometimes I think I never _was_ sane. The only thing that keeps me sure is... the picture.

Ella isn't weak. Or rather, she isn't weak in the way most women are. Her one weakness is wanting to be sane again. Why weakness? you ask. Because a desire that strong, that impossible... it may kill her.

She doesn't know that only one of us can become sane again. The other will die.

I almost hate to do this to her. But years of training, of looking out for only _me_, of loving no-one and living for myself... they had hardened me. So now... I'd give her the plan.

She'd follow it.

She'd die.

And I'd live. A sane person.

I cleared my throat. "This is how it's gonna go down..."

* * *

><p><strong>Ella's POV:<strong>

I couldn't _believe_ what he was asking of me. I... I knew I wasn't exactly pure or anything... but still! I have my humanity!

Or do I?

Am I really craving things like this, deep down inside? If I'm insane, then... then of course, this wouldn't be wrong, would it?

Would it?

Besides, if I were taken to court for this... I could plead insanity. But would they believe me? What reason would they have? Only Panther knew of my insanity... it wasn't the usual type.

So could I?

But I knew what I had to do, regardless of what happened next. I had to obey Panther. But I just couldn't _bring_ myself to do it! It's... it's not just despicable... it's... it's not _human_. And besides, I don't know if I could force myself to act like that! Sure, I'm an actress, but there are limits to what a person can take.

Can I do this?

I took a deep breath. _Sure. Simple. Just act like you've always done before. Just act._

"Sure you can do this," Panther told me. "Sucker. You think Conlon's some kinda angel with those iceberg eyes of his. What an idiot."

I cringed and he chuckled. I bit my lower lip and refused to cry. "I'll do it, Panther. Just watch me."

Yeah. I'd do this. Just watch me.

* * *

><p><strong>Spot's POV:<strong>

Yeah. She was gorgeous.

I can say this with perfect and utter sincerity... and with no emotion whatsoever. So what's another pretty dame to me? I'm Spot Conlon. I can leave or take the girls.

But. _But_. There was a savory air of mystery about her. _That_ intrigued me... and what's more, it didn't just intrigue me... it made me want to take that perfect little face into my hands and kiss that crimson mouth. Maybe then it would open up and tell some secrets.

Probably the thing that most fascinated me was her eyes. Those amber eyes. Such depth. Such piercing quality. Such luster.

I shook my head. _Why, why,_ _**why**? They're just a pair of eyes, same as anyone else's. They're not even that unnatural a color, when you think about it. _

But I knew it wasn't just the eyes. It was the world of emotions they held. Fear. Longing. Hatred. Dread. Concentration. Sadness. A fearful, tentative love.

That last was the one that haunted me.

She stepped out of the kitchen, and suddenly I no longer saw Miss Eleanor. I saw Ella. Just for a second.

Then she became someone I'd never met before... except in the worst parts of town.


	7. Actress

**Ella's POV:**

It wasn't like I didn't know _how_ to act like this. In fact, I'd actually done performances like this... but none of them had ever been so serious or so... so... _awful_.

I was writhing and shuddering inside, but on the outside... on the outside I was something I'd never dreamed of becoming; something you'd only see in brothels.

Of course, I _knew_ how to act like this... not that I'd had any training or anything, but I had had... experience.

Personally, I thought it would be a much better plan to manipulate Spot in the way I was already doing: politely and in a refined manner. Spot probably already had his pick of girls, not to mention whores. But Panther thought otherwise, and what Panther said, went.

So I took a deep breath and cannon-balled into the deep end. Glancing around the room one more time - thank God (if there _was_ one) there was nobody in the room - I advanced. Putting on my most flirtatious smile, I let my long, dark lashes drop to my cheeks and then lift again, fluttering them slightly. Stomach cramping, heart pounding, I approached Spot and put a hand ever so lightly, ever so alluringly, on his cheek; then took it away again and slid it down his neck and then rested my head against his.

He seemed... not _confused_, but... disappointed? Annoyed? Surprised? Suddenly, however, he let that all slip away and he brought his own hand up to my cheek, slowly, almost studiously.

Butterflies - those black-and-orange kinds, I thought - wildly fluttered in my stomach. I couldn't tell if I was making _him_ feel any different; but he was certainly making _me_ feel strange.

I seated myself slowly on his lap, then leaned in and brushed my lips across his cheek. He didn't wait for anything; instead, he merely moved with grace and speed and crushed his lips against mine.

The world turned upside down.

I was flying; no, I was drowning. Where was I? In space? I was weightless. I couldn't feel anything; no, I could feel his lips, they were soft and warm... Why were there sparks suddenly going off? No, my eyes were closed; I must be imagining the sparks. The universe was a lovely place to be, and I defied gravity.

Suddenly, as I thought about _why_ he was doing this, I couldn't take what I was doing to myself. _I tried, Panther! _I thought, then broke away from Spot and fled, sobbing.

Then a cold voice hit me, rock-hard. "Don't come back to me lodging house. No more talkin' with me newsies. You's just another- whore." Did his voice just break, or was that my wishful imagination?

I didn't care; I fled. I ran. I ran hard. Not to my house. To some back alley were I could kill myself.

No, Panther. I'd kill _him_.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey, guys. I know this chapter was very dark; in fact, I didn't really like to write it at all. But I kinda had to; so... but yeah. I'll try to hold off on the dark stuff in the chapters to come. Sorry.<strong>

**The mystery will be revealed in the next chapter! But now Spot hates her; so... **

**Hey, and I have a question: Do you guys like Ella's character? Is she easy to relate to? Is she a three-D or a two-D character? Tell me what you think of her, please!**

**Reviews are the wind beneath my fingers as I type! And I seriously mean that! **


	8. Killer

**Spot's POV:**

Just a whore. Just _like_ a whore. Leading me on. Making me think she was respectable.

What a liar.

What a _whore_.

I almost hated her...but every time that I hated her, the image of her amber eyes, so frightened and unloved, flashed in my mind.

I doused myself with cold water and tried to think about something, _anything_, else. Pacing in the main room of the lodging house, I flung my hat across the room and collapsed on a rickety chair, searching my mind for something to take my thoughts off of...of...of that _whore_.

But all that came to mind was my other problem, Panther.

So now, I was stuck with two problems- Panther and "Miss Eleanor".

The image of her eyes flashed again in my mind...and I sat up bolt upright. I closed my eyes, holding the mental image of Ella's eyes up...

...And then held the image of Panther's eyes up next to it.

My eyes flying open, I shot up out of the chair and flung my burning gaze around the room in search of something to destroy.

Chairs are _extremely_ good for breaking; especially the one I had just been sitting on. I smashed it to bits.

Why the heck had I not seen it before? Panther and Ella...their eyes...exactly the same.

Identical.

Could they really be one and the same?

* * *

><p><strong>Ella's POV:<strong>

****In my few sane (or partially sensible) moments, I would or could remember that I could never kill Panther.

But when I became furious...I really thought I _could_ destroy him; although, of course, nobody could until Spot was killed.

And so I tore wildly through the streets, in desperate pursuit of...

Myself.

Yes, myself.

But no, not myself.

How could I be the same person as that monster?

Yet I was.

But I wasn't!

I couldn't be.

But...but...

If I could explain it to you, I would. Mostly, this is what it's like:

Imagine that you're doing something horrible...like stealing something. And you're in a long, long hall; it's rather dark. There's a mirror at the end of the hall.

Suddenly, you look up and catch sight of someone robbing the house you're in.

And suddenly, you're filled with righteous indignation; horror; anger. You storm down to the end of the hall to stop the person...only to realize that it's yourself.

I really can't describe it any better than that. It's really like I'm a totally separate person...it's strange. It hurts.

Since I _am_ Panther...you could say I'm the one who has been doing horrible things to Spot. But when I'm doing them, I really am Panther. I'm not Miss Eleanor.

But then...all I was intent on was finding Panther and killing him. I was unaware of the fact that no matter how hard I tried, I _couldn't_.

My wanderings brought me all through the streets of Brooklyn, and then, unwittingly near the Brooklyn Bridge.

Spot Conlon's territory.

I didn't think of that, though. I was only thinking of one thing: Killing Panther.

* * *

><p><strong>Spot's POV:<strong>

****I needed to cool down, so I headed to the docks. Being at the docks always made me calm; the water was so beautiful and it was all so... not exactly peaceful, but just so _right_.

As I walked, I tried to sort out my thoughts. I couldn't succeed.

My main thought was that I had to kill her somehow. Or get her in jail. Something.

I took my usual seat on my "throne". Cane resting atop my legs, I stared pensively out into the water.

Suddenly, I was disturbed by a scream.

I looked up quickly...

...To see Ella...

...Killing herself.

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah, the chapters just keep getting darker! I wish I could keep them from being dark...*sigh of frustration* But yeah. I'm sorry. So...tell me what you think about the mystery! <strong>


End file.
